


No one who matters

by ScalesCastOfIron



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gossip, Rumors, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 13:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30022779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScalesCastOfIron/pseuds/ScalesCastOfIron
Summary: He’s been seen with another woman on his arm. And Herah Adaar feels her slowly-mending heart break.
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Female Adaar/Blackwall (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 9





	No one who matters

“Did you hear about that Warden?”

Herah ducked back into the doorway of the war room, cursing silently. She recognised that voice; some of Josephine’s latest guests from Val Royeaux had spent the last few days milling around Haven chantry, raising eyebrows and passing pointed glances at each other. 

“At the tavern last night? With that blonde girl hanging off his arm? Well, nice to know the stories about superhuman stamina are true, I suppose.”

“Shhh, Heloise!”

She closed her eyes, trying to blot out the laughter.

“Are you surprised, darling? After all, with that ghastly ox-woman making eyes at him, no wonder he’s dragged the first girl who’d have him into bed.”

“I mean, can you imagine? She’d crush him. Poor man must be terrified!”

Herah felt the skin tightening around her knuckles, grey skin turning white under old scars. She held her breath, frozen, counting the steps until the hallway fell silent.

~

She’d taken lovers in her youth, of course. Young men fascinated with her body. Wanting to see if the lurid stories of Qunari power in the bedroom were true. Not that they cared that she wasn’t, of course. She’d stopped trying to correct them after a while. Perhaps getting ‘Vashoth’ tattooed across her tits would have worked.

She’d been a novelty. An experience to be had, then discarded once the joke had worn off. Or perhaps, the opening to a ribald story in a tavern. _Did I tell you about the time I fucked an ox-woman? Pour me a drink and I’ll give you the juicy details._ And now, on the wrong end of her fourth decade, with the first greys starting to fleck her dark hair, and nearly twenty years of battle scars crossing her body, even that had dried up.

The Warden had been different, or so she’d thought. He’d watched her swing her greataxe through a demon, and complimented her technique, not the muscles behind them. They’d shared ale and jokes around the campfire in the field, long after Solas and Varric had excused themselves. He’d traced the constellations in the sky for her, and taught her to navigate by their light. And she’d told him the stories her people had for them, passed down through her mother, and through her Tamassran. Every tale of great warriors, mighty empires, hubris and heartbreak. And in the telling, the pieces of her shattered heart had started knitting together.

Of course he saw her as a warrior. His commanding officer, comrade in arms. A blade at his side, facing this war together.

She’d been stupid to think it could have been more.

~

She’d taken refuge in Josephine’s study. Tried to bury herself in the mound of paperwork that needed the stamp of the Herald, her input on which decision to make. _No. No. Yes. Maybe. Pending Cmmdr Rutherford’s decision. Not in a thousand years._ Wearing the mask of Andraste’s Chosen, until Herah could find her footing again. Ticking boxes and scrawling notes to the rhythm of Josie’s humming.

A knocking at the door brought her to her senses. Josephine was talking at the door, muttering in hushed tones with the visitor. With a small cough, she caught Herah’s eye.

“Warden Blackwall is here to see you, Herald.”

With a nod, she rose, smoothing her skirts.

“Send him in.”

Josephine nodded back, her diplomat’s eye catching the gesture.

“I’ll give you a moment.”

~

“I know why you’re here.”

“You...you do?”

The Warden’s eyes were grave, meeting hers with a frown as he folded his gloves back and forth between his hands.

With a breath, she folded her shoulders back, straightening her back. Game face on. Time to be the better person. She met his eyes, fixing a smile.

“I’m happy for you, Blackwall. You have my blessing.”

Something passed across his face at that. Not relief, as she’d expected. 

“My… my lady?”

She closed her eyes, stepping forward to take his hands in hers.

“This war has been hard on all of us. I’m glad you’ve found someone. You deserve love.”

She felt the words burn on her tongue, the truth blurred in with the polite lie.

“I’m happy for you, Gordon.”

Her mother had taught her a trick as a child. Keep your jaw rigid, tongue touching the roof of your mouth. Chin up. Don’t let the tears flow.

He didn’t take his hands back. Make some excuse, continue the formal dance she’d expected. Instead, he sighed.

“You don’t know why I’m here.”

She longed to reach out, to take his face in her hand. Her jaw stiffened, not letting the smile slip.

“Please, Blackwall. You don’t need to pretend with me. News travels fast here. You and your date last night…”

How dare he play coy. How dare he act like what he did was nothing, and play her for a fool.

“Maker’s balls, is that what they’re saying?”

A look of indignation flashed across his face, followed by resignation.

“I’m going to have to start at the beginning, aren’t I?”

~

“Pissing shitebag!”

Sera grabbed his arm, half-tripping over the floor, half-stumbling under her own weight.

“Andraste’s tits, how much have you drunk, Sera?”

He pulled her upward, grabbing her collar with one hand, slinging her pack over his back with the other.

“Hahahahaha, you said tits! Imagine if that’s the Maker’s bosom, phwoar! They should put THAT on the Chantry banner!”

She stumbled again, his arm in place just in time.

“Answer the question, Sera.”

He felt his throat tighten, the words coming out as a growl. He’d seen recruits in this state before, usually after a battle or skirmish. He’d seen it end in tragedy, too.

“All right… spoilsport. Drinking contest with Bull. Whiskeyyyyyyyyy!”

She mimed taking the shot, and winked.

“Sera, you idiot. Bull is three times larger than you, of course it’s going to hit him easier.”

She snorted, leaning heavily into him.

“Know that now, dunni?”

He sighed.

“Right, let’s get you home. Where do you live?”

She snorted, pointing back at the tavern.

“Easy!”

“Very funny. Where do you go after? Where do you sleep?”

“Tavern!”

His heart sank, the pit of dread filling his stomach.

“Sera, you don’t sleep in the tavern?”

She giggled, shrugging.

“Blanket. Corner. Close to the booze!”

The girl’s small pack hung on his back, suddenly weighted as though full of lead. All that she owned, all that she could call her own, slung in a backpack, carted from temporary space to temporary space.

The girl needed somewhere to call her own. Something to root her here, to show her that she belonged, for more than one night at a time. But more urgently, she needed a bed for tonight.

“Right, Sera. Three choices. I drop you off with Cassandra or Vivienne for the night, or mine. No tavern. You’re sleeping this off, whether you like it or not.”

Sera groaned.

“Not Vivvie! And not Cassandra either, I’ll get the full lecture…”

“If I catch you doing this again, it’ll be Vivienne whether you like it or not. No second chances.”

As they reached his hut, he held the door open for her, taking the water skin from her pack and tossing it at her.

“You get that down you, understand? Anything left in the morning, I’m tipping over your head.”

Sera snorted, reaching out to ruffle his head, missing by well over a foot. 

“Alright, _Dad._ ”

He settled down outside by the fire, curling up in his bedroll, waiting until the loud snores started rumbling from his bed before he let the uneasy sleep take him.

~

“I had no idea.”

Blackwall shook his head.

“Of course you didn’t. None of us did. It was under our noses this whole time, but no one saw.”

Every time. Every time she’d been to the tavern, seen the girl laughing with the patrons, feet up on the table. She’d never questioned why it had been _every time._

“Why didn’t she tell someone? Anyone? Maker, why didn’t she ask someone?”

Blackwall met her eyes, a sad smile creeping across his face.

“That’s Sera all over. I don’t think she realises it’s a thing she can ask for.”

_You can’t change the past_ , she thought. _All you can do is make the change now. Make the future better._

“I’ll speak to Josie immediately. We’ll find her something. In the meantime, I’ll have a second bed put in my hut. It might not be her own space, yet, but it’ll be a roof over her head.”

Blackwall sighed, a smile of relief washing over his face.

“Thank you, Herald. Herah.”

To her surprise, he took her hands, raising them to his lips. Herah hoped that the fire rushing through her heart hadn’t reached her cheeks.

“I must warn you, my lady. For a wee lass, that girl can snore something fierce.”

She laughed, feeling the flush rising.

“Well, perhaps I’ll have to come and sleep at yours in that case…”

He snorted, meeting her eye with a wink.

“Who says I’m giving up my bed for you?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I can share….”

She snaked her fingers around his, cupping his hands in hers, as he stepped closer.

“Wouldn’t that give the gossips something to talk about? The Herald, and the man from the wilds?”

“Or the heroic Warden and the heretic ox-woman. One of the two.”

He met her eyes, suddenly serious.

“Who would say that?”

She could see herself reflected back through his eyes for a moment, horns, muscle, and velvet robes, against a backdrop of chocolate brown.

“Oh, no one. No one who matters.”


End file.
